Written by: Luzaan Tolmay
Article source: JOY! Magazine

There are moments in life that divide your story into a “before” and an “after”. For me, that moment came when my nine-year-old daughter, Alessia, complained about back pain. At first, it seemed minor – something a good night’s rest would surely fix. But the next morning, our world came crashing down.

A terrifying diagnosis
Alessia woke up paralysed from the stomach down. Panic overtook us as we rushed her to the emergency ward. There was no time to process, no time to think. After an urgent X-ray, the doctors found a tumour – 5 cm by 12 cm – pressing on her spine. I remember the way the room seemed to close in on me when they said it. The air became heavier, and everything in me just wanted to scream, “This cannot be real.”

The first surgery
They told us she needed immediate, life-threatening surgery to try and decompress the spine. I will never forget the helplessness I felt walking behind her as she was wheeled into that theatre. The hours felt like days. Then, they came back to tell us that they had successfully removed part of the tumour and managed to relieve the pressure. Relief washed over me – maybe we had dodged the worst. But Alessia was still paralysed.

A devastating revelation
More tests followed. More long nights. More pleading prayers. And then the words no parent ever expects to hear: Ewing sarcoma. A rare and aggressive type of bone cancer. How could this be our story? How could this be Alessia’s story?

Two years of fighting
The next two years became a blur of chemotherapy, radiation, and endless hospital stays. They were, without question, the most traumatic years of our lives. There were moments we nearly lost her – days when I sat beside her hospital bed just begging God to keep her with us. She fought with courage I had never seen in anyone. Alessia had a light, a joy, and a tenacity that couldn’t be extinguished by her suffering. She still loved, still prayed, still cared for the people around her, even as her own body was betraying her.

Hope, and heartbreak again
We celebrated every small victory – every scan, every moment that pointed to the possibility of healing. There were surgeries, more radiation, and rounds upon rounds of chemo. And finally, it seemed we had beaten it. The storm had passed. But it hadn’t.

The final diagnosis
In December, we received the news that no parent is ever prepared to hear. The cancer had metastasised. There was nothing more they could do for her. I don’t think there are words to describe that level of devastation.

A lifeline of prayer
We prayed like we had never prayed before. As a pastor, I have always believed in the power of prayer, and now I was standing in the very place I had preached about so many times. The place where faith is not a sermon, but a lifeline. We rallied the church, we called every prayer warrior we knew, we fasted, we pleaded. Surely, God would intervene. But on the 31st of January, Alessia went to be with Jesus.

The weight of grief
There are simply no words to describe the crushing pain of losing a child. Nothing prepares you for that final goodbye. It is in this moment that the rubber meets the road in your faith. It’s here – in the ashes of your worst nightmare – that you are confronted with the question: Is God still good? When your prayers go unanswered, when the thing you feared the most becomes your reality, when your world caves in – what do you really believe? Do you love God only for what He can do for you? Or do you love Him for who He is?

A pastor’s wrestle
This has been the deepest wrestle of my life. I am a pastor. I have led people in worship. I have preached about the goodness of God. I have prayed with people in crisis. And yet, here I was, shattered, my heart torn in two. Would I still say He is good? Would I still stand in church and lift my hands? Would I still trust Him?

A resolute yes
My answer is yes. Not because it’s easy. Not because I didn’t doubt. Not because I didn’t have moments where I screamed into my pillow, asking why my daughter had to die. But because I have come to know that our faith was never about transactions. It was never about getting the outcome we wanted. It was never about loving God for what He can do for us – it was always about loving Him for who He is.

Faith, not formula
God is still Lord of all. He is still good. His character has not changed because my circumstances did. His faithfulness is not void because our prayers were not answered the way we hoped. Through this journey, I’ve learnt that grief and faith can co-exist. You can be heartbroken and still believe. You can wrestle with unanswered prayers and still trust the heart of God. You can walk through the valley of the shadow of death and still declare that He is your shepherd.

A mother’s heartache
There are days when the ache is unbearable. I miss Alessia with a depth I cannot put into words. I see reminders of her everywhere. I hear her laugh in my memory. I still expect her to walk through the door. And on those days, I don’t try to plaster on a fake smile or give God a rehearsed prayer. I bring Him my raw, unfiltered, broken heart. Because He can handle it. He is not afraid of our grief.

Faith that anchors
I don’t know why Alessia wasn’t healed here on earth. I may never fully understand that on this side of eternity. But I know where she is. I know she is healed now. I know she is whole. I know I will see her again. And I know that God has not abandoned us in this pain.

Unshaken trust
What I’ve discovered is that faith is not proven when things go our way – faith is proven when they don’t. Worship is not tested in the mountaintop moments – it’s tested in the valley. Love for God is not measured by how much we get from Him, but by whether we continue to love Him when He gives us nothing but Himself. That’s enough for me. Even though our prayers weren’t answered the way I wanted them to be – He is still my God. He is still my refuge. He is still my hope.

Beauty in the broken
I don’t tell this story because it’s neat or tied up with a bow. I tell it because it’s real. Life is brutal sometimes, and yet, somehow, beauty can still be found in the broken places. Alessia’s life, though far too short, was filled with purpose. Her story has left an imprint on the hearts of so many. And though the pain is still fresh, I know her legacy will live on.

Through the fire
This journey has taught me that faith doesn’t protect us from suffering – but it does anchor us in it. That’s what I cling to now: an unshaken love for a God who walks with us through the fire, even when the ending is not the one we prayed for. He is still Lord of all. He is still good. And I will still praise Him.

This article is featured in the September issue of JOY! Magazine. Read a digital version of this magazine here: joygifts.co.za

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Date published: 03/09/2025
LUZAAN TOLMAY – mother of Alessia, pastor at NLC Church in Witbank, JOY! reader and passionate follower of Jesus.
Feature image: Alessia (Supplied)

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